Sprinter

In school I thought I had deer feet. So every year in annual sports-meet I would line up with others in short blue skirts, white shirt, white cades shoes without spikes; with ears sharp to three words that would shoot at two feet: get, set, go. All I could see was the big red ribbon held across by two teachers which I had to touch first. I know during the run I would shut all my sense organs except vision. I believed I did really fly. Yet there were taller feet, stronger and faster. I always ended up among the first four or five. However the victory stand gave space to only three. That shiny golden cup with the brown base where your name, class, section, date and the sports – event written on a white card were pasted always eluded me. Always.

I know that feeling of shutting all the sense organs except vision – eyes on the prize. Such a shame that the prize eluded you – although your wish star didn’t really fall on the ground as you ran your fastest and made it to the ribbon.

You wrote this with such truthful recollection, I almost identified! Which is quite an achievement on your part, considering how schoolgirl me hated sport and didn’t even wish to participate let alone succeed.

It’s funny, as we look back many years – what we remember and what we forget. Some of the biggest milestones in my life, such as my graduation from university, are hazy shadows. And yet, some of the tiniest moments, such as the wisp of a smile when I knew that someone I liked: liked me … indelible. Even though you never took the victory stand, that race to win, clearly, had a deep impact on you. Great piece, Sumana!

Sumana, this is the wonderful attitude – to keep trying no matter what. We often focus on the result, on the future forgetting to enjoy current moment. Your participation – what was important, and it’s given you the taste of living in the present.